A Murky, Dismal, Frownie Invasion

So...

It seems as though my dastardly plan has come to pass at last. The forum for group activity has reached a state of necrotic deterioration that the very stench of its decay makes me twiddle my fingers in a laughably villainous manner. True, nobody will read this, but it will still be mine and that is all that really counts.

I am going to take this opportunity to write the Activity Wish-List for the foreseeable future, share a Brownie folk tale (this seems a decent medium for the recording of them, as well as writings on brownies in general), air my dirty laundry and sing the praises of our gwowious weader, Wegginian.

It seems that our first and foremost goal is the completion of the second part of Groucho's ongoing campaign. Following that, we have several options, the most outstanding of which being Kit's eerily chibi (yes that what It makes me think of) epic fantasy quest. Other projects in motion are:

• Villains & Vigilantes or Mutants & Masterminds, Featuring Mannabis, Professor Marxist, The Blue Parrot and The Gay Avenger in their quest to defeat evil and and move into a new lair outside of basement at The Blue Parrot's parents'.
• CommissarCrunch's new spin on Gamma World, assuming he can ever let go of Robert Plant.
• Deadlands has been requested, though I'm happy keeping that in the wings.
• MvC3 comes out in mere days at this point, and Im sure that a decent portion of the group would wish to play the living S*** out of that when the occasion presents itself.
• 40K. Yes, its a sore subject, but its still the 800 lb neg-I mean Gorrilla in the room.
• Arabian Nights (I'm not going to push this too hard)
• Space Hulk! the TCG! (not gonna speak for Jake though)

I'm afraid that this is all the time I have for now, but I will return to this later in the evening.

Webcomics and why I love them. (Keenspot is going to hate me)

Being a net denizen, a somewhat lurking prone one at that, I am perhaps best familiar with a little corner of the internet known as webcomics.

Because of this I have decided an interesting endeavor (as well as one i might perhaps follow through with), might be to review webcomics. I read a great many of them and and a familiar with and am ready to embrace even more. As such I will be reviewing several webcomics over the course of the next few months.

I plan to examine professional webcomics such as Penny Arcade and those produced by Blind Ferret. I will look at the some of the masterpieces of the commercial webcomics such as "achewood", "Dinosaur Comics", "Dr. Mcninja" and "Nedroid". We will take a peek at the fantasy epic genre, and Comics such as "Goblins" and "Slightly Damned".

I hope to provide an in depth, humorous look at the medium, and if any of my readers have any suggestions, please feel free to make them.

A better chapter

This next one is quite a bit longer. Of the fully written chapters of my unnamed but more fully imagined book, this one is by far my favorite, though so much of the story has changed over the years that the first 2/5ths aren't pertennant anymore. The note paper I copied this off of is turning brown with age, and in places the words have faded so much that at one point it seems that I went over the original blue ink with a black pen in some places.

But I digress...

“I couldn’t see any reason not to be happy, we were together, we were perfect, we were…” His face stared off in to the darkness.

“alive?”

The Count merely shrugged before jumping down from the wall and turning with a sigh.

“Sorrow was a concept which I had yet to encounter, now it is one with which I feel all too familiar. It is unfortunate that one has to bear such things, but something you will find is that the world, whichever it may be, is a place of extremes.

Where there is hate, there is also love. Where there is death, life can be found. It is the way of things my friend; it is necessary to experience the darkness before one can appreciate the light.”

“It’s like that Confucius stuff, the Yin and Yang thing, right?

“Once again, you are closer to the truth than you are to actual correctness”

“huh?”

“your statement concerning Yin and Yang is correct,” The Count said smiling as he gathered scattered twigs from the roadside. “But it is the followers of Taoism, not Confucius that use the Yin and Yang analogy”

“Well it was a bunch of old Chinese guys anyway” Ralph pointed out. The Count did not even bother looking over his shoulder as he started the fire once more.

“Perhaps..” The Count said, “But the Idea is not restricted to your Far East. An English author and philosopher, named C.S. Lewis also believed most firmly in a universe comprised of opposites.” The Count gave one final, gentle blow coaxing flame to sprout from wood like an orange flower from a glowing red seed.

“I know him,” Ralph said as he passed more fuel to the fire, ‘he wrote the Chronicles of Narnia.”

“Indeed,” Chuckled the Count as he pulled a link of grey-green sausages from the depths of his hat. “If only traveling between worlds were as simple as finding the right wardrobe.”

Perhaps it was the heat of the flames, or perhaps a better understanding of each other. But for whatever reason, the tension of the previous night seemed to melt away.

Daylight never seemed to come to the Wilted Woods, the black of night seemingly only to give way to a slightly lesser darkness. When Ralph awoke, he was surprised to find the fire already out and scattered, with all other remains of the previous night being shoved forcefully into the counts mysterious hat.

“Ah, Mr. Douglas, it is good that you’re up. Day is upon us and it would be most prudent for us to leave.”

Ralph rubbed his eyes and scratched his back. “It’s still dark right now and we don’t have to be in Dunleavn for two more days” he said grumpily.

The Count placed his hat back on his head and looked at his pocket watch. "It is close to Half past Ten, Mr. Douglas.” He as he began walking down the road. “Though the difference is barely perceptible to our eyes, to the denizens of this sad wasteland; it is almost as bright as noonday. This is when they can see their prey”

Ralph grabbed his bag and ran to catch up. “I thought you said there were no living creatures for miles around!”

The Count kept moving along at a brisk pace. “Indeed I did, but in an unholy place such as this, the living are the least of our worries.”

“Damnit, you lied to me again,” Ralph lamented. “First, a paranoid town where they burn strangers at the stake, now a haunted forest! What next? Do they eat people in Dunleavn?” Ralph’s voice was promptly obscured by The Count’s hat. Ignoring the distraught boy beside him, The Counts eyes narrowed as he scanned the woods ahead for movement.

“What the hell?” Ralph let the question slide as he noticed the dark shape in the trees several meters ahead.

“Keep quiet” The Count whispered out the side of his mouth.

“What is it? Ralph muttered to himself.

“I’m really not quite sure” The Count said just loud enough for Ralph to hear. Seeing the discouraged expression on Ralph’s face, he gave a quick grin. “Just leave it to me.” Taking a few steps forward, the count removed his hat and gave a curt bow.

“Good day, my good..” The Count seemed to hesitate for a second before fining of the sentence. “My good friend.”

Slowly and carefully, a small pair of helpless looking creatures eased themselves from out behind the dead foliage. Turning back, the count grinned. “Nothing to worry…” The Count’s sentence was abruptly cut short the two of them were assailed by dozens upon dozens of what appeared to Ralph to be flying black handtowels.

The Count threw himself to the ground, gripping his had tightly. Ralph followed him to the ground soon after; knocked flat by the force of a hundred fluttering objects.

Excepts and Stuff

Due to my renewed interest in Writing, I thougt it might be a good idea to review some of my old writing; and in some cases, (especially those that are written on 4-8 year old disintigrating notepaper) preserve that writing while also opening it up to review.

Tonight I have two excepts, one from each of the unfinished novels I started, (who knows, rewriting it may insire me to write more after all these years) This first of which is the opening page of an unnamed novel about a stuff through the eyes of a cat (give me a break, I was 15).

At dawn, Bountiful looks like a small town, but feels like a big city. The streets are wide and yet crowded almost to a standstill in front the church on Main Street. Busses move suddenly and just as suddenly grind to a halt, taking commuters on their way to work and dropping off those who just arrived, echoing the movements of a well oiled machine receiving raw materials, and in one swift motion, refining and spitting them out.

In fact, it would be a lie to say that most of the community wasn’t indeed a sort of gigantic mechanical process of mothers dropping off their kids, grocers and clerks inventorying and stocking their wares. 100,000 faceless people pass 100,000 more on their way home from the night shift. Women swarm in droves to the shopping complexes near by. All around town, car horns blare in the streets; orders are taken in restaurants and cafés; friends greet as they pass on the sidewalk. The sounds of a busy community ring like the bells of a thousand churches, each one vying for the attention of the next passerby.

But inevitably, the sun begins to rise and as the shadows cast by the mountains in the East recede across the valley, so to does the din of the hustling-bustling populace, unveiling the other half of the town. An even paced quietness takes over in the sunlight as each person settles into their routines and the machine like motions of the early hours give way to a seemingly living, breathing entity, a reflection of its residents. And if there was one resident Bountiful especially reflected, it was Chester the cat.

On the Ethics of Eating Your Cat: Part I

Brought up as a traditional Omnivorous American, I was taught that the 6 basic food groups were of course; Beef, Pork, Poultry, Cheese, Rice and Potatoes. I never could have fathomed that one day I'd crave raw fish on a regular basis and that sucking the gelatinous eyeball out of a roasted duck's cloven skull would only be a minor issue. In the hip, modern scene of 2009, its cool to be adventurous, its fashionable to toss aside the culinary taboos of our European ancestors (who according to family tradition must have eaten nothing but gruel, crusty bread, pot roast, and boiled potatoes,day in and day out). Never before has the public in general been so accepting of the various dining traditions of the planet

Despite Western societies' recent general willingness to embrace the so called "bizarre foods" of the world over, one item on the menu still seems to disgust our cultural sensibilities with such regularity that I would dare call it the most inflammatory food item since American politicians started thinking about tea bags. I am, as you may well have guessed from the title, talking about the relatively common practice of eating the family pet.

Recently, people in New Zealand were outraged when a man, recently immigrated from Tonga,
Killed and ate his dog. Reactions to this story ranged from one man who fairly pointed out,

"There is little difference between most animals. If you are willing to eat a Cow or Pig, you should have no issue with eating Panda, they are animals. Only one looks cute. Again, a common fish and a whale, one is majestic, the other is common and uninteresting. A family dog is simply an inexpensive, alternative dinner. Why do meat eaters find this offensive? As a vegetarian I find it confusing. It’s all the same, meat!"

to another that pointed out,

"We do make the distinction between pets and livestock… when you raise an animal for its meat and what it can produce for you, it’s different to what a pet is. The difference is in the emotional bond that you create with an animal… sure, a cow or horse can be eaten, but if you’re able to connect with it emotionally, it would become a pet.

If as humans we are able to bond successfully with other species, domesticate them, bring them into our worlds, and – more often than not – embrace them like our own family, they become our ‘own’, then they deserve to be treated as our ‘own’.

If an animal can be a fire safety officer, a police officer, a guide for the visually-impaired, a bomb-sniffer, and – most importantly – a better friend than many humans can be, the least the law can do is to afford it the same dignity as humans – the right not to be eaten."

Where do we draw the line though? Is it in fact respect for an animal's dignity that prevents us as westerners from eating the pooch? Why then, do we have no qualms over eating a beef steak? To nearly 1/6th of the worlds population (I may be exaggerating this slightly) a cow is a sacred animal. A friend of the field and the human race. Hindus do actually avoid eating beef out of respect for the animal. And yet though hordes of Europeans and Americans will flock to venues in South Korea to protest the traditional (though disappearing) eating of Gaegogi, I have yet to encounter a Hindu picket line surrounding my local barbecue joint. This suggests to me that if respect plays any part, it is not respect for dogs that prohibits us from eating Rover, but pride in ourselves in thinking that we would never stoop that low.

Perhaps the most telling answer was one of the least eloquent though. Miss Elaine Confait says

I think it is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen, my pet cat is like my child – would he do the same????? he should be prosecuted & hung – or killed & cooked !!!!!!!

At this point, the dog is given the same importance and moral status of a child, and then she goes on to equate the man with the very same dog!

It seems that much of the feeling of todays public can be attributed to a notion of "animals are people too". We have become so complacent with the human condition that it often no longer occurs to us that the welfare of the human being, when pushed far enough will almost always be put before the welfare of the animal kingdom.

Historical Perspectives on the New Imperial Guard Codex: A Response By Generalfeldmarschall Erwin Rommel

And now my response. As I see it there are two kinds of guard players, those that play using guard tactics, and those that don't. Some Commanders (especially those grounded in the military traditions of the less refined though more populous geopolitical entities) would see themselves as the sword and shield of the masses, the same social and tactical organics that echo the mentality of those who would overwhelm you with mindless barbarism of tyranids or orks. Alternatively, there are those that think themselves as nothing more than a short step down from Space Marines, believing that if they spend 16 points on a model, or 200 points on a tank, it will be every bit as good as a model of the same price on another list. Both fail to see that the strength of the Guard is neither in the weight of their steel nor in the weight of their numbers. Rather it is their outstanding flexibility, their ability to combine those attributes that finds the guard as formidable as it is often found to be. Infantry And tanks should be the hammer and anvil a skilled commander uses together to forge victory.

Tanks should not be seen as the hammer as they often are by those who would proclaim themselves "treadheads" will oft spout them to be. Rather, the true heart and hammer of any guard force is and should be the infantry. Armour should not be used to frighten the enemy into submission but rather as a logistical method of increasing the survivability of a battle group as a whole. Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. For a commander with limited manpower, Armour is a tool to help even the odds. For every one man firing an antitank weapon at this lumbering behemoth, there are nine more hopelessly distracted from the real threat, even as prescribed by their own general staff.

This threat can be presented in two ways, depending on the foe. The first, favored by those who are the real masters of armoured warfare would see rapidly deployed transports full of good units supported by either the cheapest and most readily available fighting force the commander has at his disposal, or less expensive vehicles to take the heat. this will of course depend on the size of the battle and the type of terrain, but either way, one will find these mechanized units a far superior attacking thrust to the much venerated Battle Tank. One must keep in mind that the engine of the Panzer is a weapon just as the main-gun. though it should also be noted that the moment mobility is lost en masse, the day may well as be also.

The other, and arguably more flexible, if more vulnerable deployment sees a greater investment in cheap man power as a whole. Though it can be configured to tackle all sorts of possible threats, its greatest weakness is that without the other half of the equation, that anvil of heavy tanks, the day can be hopelessly lost, for no matter what resources are put into fielding these troop formations, they can never hope to match the numbers available to the enemy (excepting they be something on the order of a space marine formation). In a man to man fight, the winner is he who has one more round in his magazine.

In conclusion, the guard army is what it is, and that is the forefront of combined arms tactics on the battlefield of the 41st Mellenium.